“There are many possible gifts, but it is different with a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter,” she continued. “One is empathy—the ability to feel what others feel, to share both their sorrow and their joy, and thus to respond and counsel them if necessary. That is one of the basic talents, but sometimes it can be more than that. . . .”

I’d certainly never experienced anything like this—but I was still only twelve. Could such a big change suddenly take place in me when I turned thirteen? “You told me that these gifts came to you as a surprise and made you believe you were going insane,” I said to her. “Why didn’t your own mother explain what would happen?”

“She was just a seventh daughter, and had neither the power nor the knowledge. She didn’t know what was wrong with me. Finally, after years of torment, another found me—using one of her gifts, she sensed my anguish—and told me what I was.”

“What name did you give me?” I asked.

The woman—my mother—leaned forward and whispered my true name into my left ear but warned again that I must never reveal it to others: some who served the dark could gain power over a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter by knowing her true name.

So I will keep it to myself. Tom Ward told me that my notebooks should eventually go into the library. They are a legacy of experience and knowledge that we leave to future spooks. I’ll not write anything down here that I am not prepared for others to read.

We talked for almost an hour that day, my mother and I, and she told me of the other possible gifts that I might inherit. After this, we agreed that, if she was well enough, we would meet at the market the following week.

As we parted, we embraced, tears trickling down our cheeks.

Then I ran home with my basket—but I ran in vain.

My false father took off his belt and, for the first time in more than a year, thrashed me.

The pain was excruciating, but I did not allow myself to cry. I think that angered him even more.

15

A Girl Like You

MY mother did not come to the market the following week.

I never saw her again.

No doubt her illness had become worse, preventing her from returning. I imagined her slowly dying but still able to speak. I was desperate to talk to her and find out more about what I would become. I knew now that she was indeed my true mother, and all my bitterness at having been abandoned melted away. I understood why she had acted as she did. I needed to see her just one more time before we were parted forever.

That was the beginning of my wanderings. I searched for her in the surrounding villages, starting with the Long Ridge. After that I tried the towns, and ventured as far south as Priestown and as far north as Caster. Sometimes I was away for days; each time I returned to receive a fresh beating.